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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26896648">Navigation Campsite</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stowaway_Macaw/pseuds/Stowaway_Macaw'>Stowaway_Macaw</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Rising of the Residents of Lightsoul [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hermitcraft RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:28:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,675</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26896648</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stowaway_Macaw/pseuds/Stowaway_Macaw</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Xisuma's strenuous journey has begun, but who said that the journey would be a lonely one? After all, with such a lofty goal, he's going to need support from anyone who's willing. Even if his company is a mysterious poet living in an old tent.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Rising of the Residents of Lightsoul [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946275</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Talk of Madness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Get up. There’s someone waiting for you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I was afraid to get up though. What if what I saw was the prelude to another death?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You sound like a troubled poet. Just get up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And so, I opened my eyes, only to see a blue tarp pitched over me, the night air could be felt streaming in from the corners of the tent. I was nestled in a sleeping bag that shielded everything except my face from the chilling air. There wasn’t much room in the tent, but there was enough that a chest could fit at my side. That and… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey there. You’re awake finally. Took you a while, huh?” My eyes flicked to my right and I spotted the face of the voice I’d heard exactly before and after my sleep. He wasn’t wearing much, like me, but he did have shoes. Sandals to be exact. He sat cross-legged next to me with soft-looking pants that were made to look like jeans. He wore a thin cotton shirt dyed a sky blue with a symbol printed in white that I’d only ever seen printed in the guidebook. He looked at me through a pair of glasses that looked like they were falling apart and only held together by some bits of spider string that would’ve been too small to be useful for anything else.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He smiled at me and I was able to observe his face. There was a lantern in the tent that let me see his brown eyes that were nearly covered by his messy, dark hair. Despite how messy the hair on top of his head was, his facial hair was surprisingly well-cared for.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I wanted to get up to properly address him, but as soon as I moved anything, I realized how sore I was and I winced. The mysterious man moved quickly to my aid.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay, don’t worry about getting up, alright? We can talk while you rest a bit, so just relax, okay?” I settled back into the matted plush of the sleeping bag and the man went ahead and propped my head up with some bunched up fabric. Once he had done so, he settled back to his sitting position and looked me in the eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright, before we get into the deep questions, let’s introduce ourselves, shall we? My name is Joe Hills.” He spoke differently than I did, but his voice was nice to listen to. He seemed pleasant enough, and it’d been so long since I’ve seen anyone like me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nice to meet you, I’m Xisuma.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s nice to meet you too, Xisuma. Now, another question: Where are you from?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lightsoul Tower.” Joe nodded and it seemed like he understood my exhaustion even though he probably knew that the tower wasn’t that far away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve seen it over the horizon. I’ve kept to the campsite since I arrived in Lightsoul. It’s… rather lonely, so I’m glad to finally have someone to speak to, if only for a little bit.” When Joe expressed that sentiment, I managed a tiny nod of agreement.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’ve been in that tower since I arrived as well…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wasting away.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“... wasting away.” Once I said that, Joe went silent for a moment before speaking up again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“In my opinion, that’s what any mindful residents end up doing, Or rather, it’s what we’re forced to do. Both physically,” Joe eyed my arm which I’d rested on my stomach, which made me realize just how little muscle I had. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And mentally.” Joe then looked directly at my face, but his gaze appeared to be focused somewhere else. He then closed his eyes with a sigh and smiled a warm but tired smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never really known what to do with my life, alone in this campsite. So for our next question, I’ll ask you this: if you lived in Lightsoul Tower for so long, then why are you out here in a condition like that?” He motioned towards my body, probably referencing how weak it was. I broke his eyes contact for a moment and focused on the lantern that was burning very dim, but not showing any sign of fizzling out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well… I got sick of it. I had experienced death once and… for the next few years, I didn’t want to leave that tower. I was… I am really scared of dying again. But as time passed, something started pushing me to leave. It… took me some time before I was able to actually muster up enough courage, but here we are.” Joe nodded and went silent for a moment, though it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. I was still tired, so that might’ve been part of the reason I didn’t feel so awkward. Soon enough though, he spoke.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re like me then. We don’t age, we’ve been scarred by our premature and yet temporary demise, and, if I’m understanding correctly,” Joe looked at me and what he said surprised me, if only because I thought I was the only one who was experiencing something so absurd.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“we both hear voices that are only somewhat our own.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You… hear it too?” Joe nodded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Though I imagine they’re not identical, you seem to suffer similar repercussions to myself.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait, how did you know I heard it too? No offense, but that seems a bit like a leap in logic.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It probably is, but it seemed like a good conclusion. It was probably just wishful thinking, hoping that you’d be experiencing what I’m going through as well. Although now that I know we both hear these voices, my wishful thinking seems to have uncovered some new information. We have a very specific thing in common. Perhaps that says something?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m… not sure. I lost track of what was going on here a long time ago… I thought I was going insane…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, no offense, but I think that’s still very plausible. The same goes for me though.” I only hummed a sound of slight disappointment and silence engulfed the conversation, this time it wasn’t even close to comfortable. I broke the silence myself since it was starting to get unbearable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So what do you do out here? There doesn't seem to be much, but I’ve only read about this campsite.” Joe looked at me and snapped out of whatever dazed stupor he was in to answer my question.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I don’t do much if I’m being honest. I light the fire pit every night and for a while, I would read the guidebook cover to cover. What that… voice came along, I took up writing. I like to consider myself an aspiring poet.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Really? I write too, but I just write journals.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you mean like diary entries or is it more professional?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A mixture of both, actually. Although, my last few journals have been… uh… h-how do I put this? They’re not exactly as… legible as what you’re probably thinking. They’re…” I struggled to find the words, but Joe took it upon himself to finish the sentence for me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Frantic? Emotional? Chaotic?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, something along those lines.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Would you be comfortable sharing? I’ll read you some of my poems if you want.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d be fine with that, so long as you’re okay with it being a little creepy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am in no place to judge that. After all, we’re in similar positions, so whatever you’ve written, I will accept for what it is.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Our Downfalls</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>I still had number thirty-seven with me, as well as my guidebook, so while Joe unzipped the tent to go outside and brave the night so that he could lug an ender chest over, I decided that my journal could use another entry.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Day 2</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Things are going surprisingly well. Or, at least better than I thought it would be. I made it  to the campsite and I met someone new. His name is Joe Hills, and he seems quite nice. He let me sleep in one of the tents. We also found out that he hears a voice like the one I hear. Maybe it’s related? We don’t know yet. We’re going to share journals so he’s grabbing an ender chest right now. I’m a little afraid about what he’ll say about mine, but I warned him about it so maybe it won’t be that bad… Oh! Right, I forgot to say another thing about Joe. Apparently he writes poetry, so I’m excited to see what he writes. I can hear him outside, so I’ll leave this entry here.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I heard the tent unzip and saw Joe scramble in, an ender chest in his arms. He let the chest thud to the ground before zipping up the tent again as quickly as he could. I noticed he was breathing heavily and had a scratch on the back of one of his hands.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Idiot got grazed by an arrow. Pathetic.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Hey, you've got a scratch there." I decided that just mentioning it would be nicer than insulting him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah, the sun has already set and there was a skeleton just outside."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh my, I'm sorry."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Don't worry about it. You're probably fully aware just how inevitable it is."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes, I'm afraid so." Joe opened the ender chest and one by one, pulled out about ten different books. With each book he pulled out, they got more and more weathered. He put the stack next to me and I did my best to ignore the soreness in my body as I sat up. Joe held up the most weathered one.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I got about two from each year I spent here. This one's the oldest." He handed it to me and I smiled at him before opening it to the first entry.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>We seek utopia,</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>And we found this.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>World's away and fleeting,</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Hazy like soul-filled fog.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Myself, a blank slate,</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Was I ever anywhere else?</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>There was a me I don't know,</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Did he even live where I do?</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>If he did then he wasn't here.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Not like I am.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>I am here in this utopia.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>I must convince myself.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>I am not like the other me,</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Who didn't truly love</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>In a utopia.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but reading his poem gave me deja vu. Joe must have seen that I finished reading the poem because he started to explain some of it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I wrote this on my first day here. It's been too long for me to remember the details, but…" Joe trailed off and his eyes glazed over. He suddenly looked like he wasn't quite present, but he still seemed to be searching for words. I flipped to another poem some pages later.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>The wind whispers to me,</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Telling me that I'm alive.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>It soothes my skin </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>It wants me here</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>It saved my life</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>And carried it to me.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When I looked up and saw that Joe still looked unfocused, I started to read the poem aloud without thinking. As soon as I spoke, Joe's eyes darted back to me like he had forgotten I could speak. I kept reading until the poem was finished and when I looked up again, Joe's eyes were back in focus. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"... I think that was the first time I've ever heard that read by someone else." Joe's voice was nearly at a whisper when he told me that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It has such a different meaning coming from you…" he took a deep breath and smiled at me.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Sorry for spacing out. It just… won't stop talking." I nod and smile at Joe.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Don't worry, I understand." Joe pulled out a book that looked more new, but it obviously wasn't the newest and handed it to me, taking the one I was holding. I opened to the first page, and as I read, the beginnings of rain started to patter on the tent. This poem was very different from the other two I read.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Freedom to desire and wish and want and listen. </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>What else could I want </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>What else could I</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Could I </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>I don't</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Want</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>I want to</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Want </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Help </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>CAN can't hear</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Too lou</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Quit quit qit</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Wolves and mine are</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>We are </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>What we</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Are</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Meant to be.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>It won't go please go I want it gone I didn't want this idontbu t I cantd o anything ab out it can t wr i te I GEt wor se and whatisutopia Idon't knowhowto smile please please iwaritgoneiwantotfonepleasepleaseplease</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The rain had picked up and I was suddenly glad that the tent was stronger than it looked. Water was pouring and it was hard to hear myself think. It was like the roar in my head that refused to shut up. Similar to my own, Joe's desperate struggles were scrawled as intensely as the approaching thunderstorm on the page.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I knew this kind of writing. It was my own and I'd written like it only yesterday. I glanced at Joe and he looked grim. I closed the book and used most of the strength I had to open the ender chest and pull out number thirty-six. Joe took the journal and seemed hesitant about opening it, only doing so when I nodded at him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I could see the exact moment he was able to process what was on the first page since I saw something along the lines of both pity and relief show on his face.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Written in Ink</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It made me happy to know that Joe was there. He had a warm type of presence that seemed familiar, even though I knew for a fact that I’d never met him before. Perhaps that’s just how he was: homey and neutral and looking like he’d be able to withstand any trials with a kind heart. Although, based on his journal, that wasn’t completely true about him. Maybe he just seemed like that?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s wearing a mask. Liar. I’ll bet he’s on the verge of snapping, ready to kill us in cold blood. He’s just waiting for the right moment. He’s got a voice too after all. And if I can control you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Then his voice can do the same.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re the same, huh?” I heard Joe mumble over the voice in my head. His eyes were glued to number thirty-six but I couldn’t help but think that he’d seen my slight change of expression when I listened to the voice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“In a few ways, yes, it looks like it.” I spoke just as quietly as he did, but as a consequence, it was hard to hear my voice over the pouring rain. I kept talking like that anyway.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But… I think we’re different in a few ways.” Joe looked up at me, making direct eye contact and not breaking it like he was staring at an enderman.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...We live differently. And not just in different places either. I lived just sitting around in a tower…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...and I’ve been at this campsite. I’ll admit though, I think I’ve been outside a bit more than you have.” That much was obvious, what by the actual muscle Joe seemed to have. He didn’t look strong by any means, but his form and complexion was leagues better than mine. I was much paler than him and you could see my bones and joints in some places. Five years of nothing will do that to you I suppose.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Told you. He’s leagues better than you and he’s practically the same as you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Although, I can’t say I’ve ever gotten close to a monster before. I know death isn’t permanent here, but I just can’t bring myself to get any closer than twenty meters to any mob.” Joe confessed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve only been killed once… by a skeleton. It shot me from so far away. I went down with one arrow.” I saw his hand move up like he was attempting to cover his heart, though it didn’t quite reach it. Once I saw though, my eyes were drawn to his light blue shirt and the symbol that adorned it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Where did you get that shirt?” I asked him. His hand went down to his lap and he thought for a moment.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve had it, or at least variations of it, since I got here. I’m not sure why I have this symbol specifically, but…” It was interesting. The shirt had to have been replaced a few times. Definitely more than his jeans were. They were frayed and worn and bleached by sunlight, looking like they hadn’t been replaced in over a year. His shirt was still worn, but not nearly to the extent of his jean-like pants.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s the symbol from the guidebook, right?” I asked him. He nodded and I got out my guidebook, flipping to the legend that appeared right after the table of contents.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>+ : Vandalism is strictly prohibited</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>- : Looting is strictly prohibited</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>@: Hazardous Terrain</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b># : Hazardous Mobs</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>&amp; : Required Dress Code</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>* : Area contains restricted sections/information only accessible to the Overseer and all they deem fit</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After looking at the legend, I had an idea. I quickly flipped to the passage detailing our current location.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<ol>
<li><b> Navigation Campsite #</b></li>
</ol>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>This place is a small, unprotected area directly in front of Lightsoul tower. Refer to this place for directions to any place in Lightsoul. Five residents are only allowed at once and those who stay here will be at the mercy of the native residents.</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I guess out of five available spots, Joe and I took up two. Not that anyone else was likely to show up. I was the first in five years after all. Not satisfied with the entry in the guidebook, I made some notes of my own like I had done with Lightsoul Tower.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Joe lives here! There’s a fire pit that he lights every night as long as it’s not raining. He helped me out when I collapsed in front of the campsite. I think cows like to hang out around here too but I was too tired to tell. </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Just when I put the quill aside, Joe took it from me and started scribbling in a handwriting quicker and more steady than my own next to my note. When he was done, he gave me the book back and I read his note.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>I met someone new here and I’ve lived here since I can remember. There are three tents and two of them fit two people while the third only fits one. And yes, cows like to reside in the surrounding fields. They’re a pleasant thing to hear at night.</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>-Joe Hills</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I smiled at the note and got a grin in return from my newfound friend. Suddenly, I had an idea. I opened up number thirty-seven and flipped to the cover page, right before the actual contents began. Normally, I’d just have my name and the title here, but I wanted to do something special.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Joe, would you be interested in travelling with me?” My question seemed to take him aback and after the initial surprise, he furrowed his brow and tilted his head inquiringly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You see… I have a goal. And yes, I know it’s a lofty one, but I still want to try. All of the places in Lightsoul… I want to visit them. Every single one. And if you don’t want to come I understand, but I just figured I’d ask.” The look on Joe’s face said it all. He thought I wouldn’t last a day if that was my plan.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What an insult.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He was probably right, but as of this very moment, I was more afraid of wasting away slowly than I was of skeletons or creepers. I had to do this, and I’d committed to it as soon as I stepped out on the grass.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I think… I think that it’s a good goal. I do. But… I’m not sure if I’m the right person for you to travel with.” Wait, what? He wasn’t going to tell me to not go? His look of unsurety suddenly clicked. He wasn’t doubting me, though I wasn’t sure why, he was doubting himself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you mean?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well… I’ve already kind of mentioned this… but I can’t bring myself to get close to mobs. At all. Of any kind.” What did he mean by that?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So… that means you’re afraid?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of what exactly?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Zombies, creepers, spiders, bears, bees, wolves, cats… all of it.” Oh. I get it now. He really does mean everything.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, maybe this is a good chance to face your fears. That’s what I’m doing after all, and you seem like the brave type.” Joe looked genuinely astonished by what I said, but at the same time, he still looked unsure.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I might end up getting in the way, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And I would most definitely be getting in your way. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly in good health.” This seemed to calm Joe down a lot since he actually smiled at me that time.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright then. We’ll get in each other’s way.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Perfect! Well then, in the spirit of making our partnership official, would you like to add your name to my journal?” I held up the open number thirty-seven that only had my name and the title written on a very clean page. Joe hesitated, but eventually took the quill and signed his name near mine in a flowy script that had obviously been practiced. When he gave the quill back to me, I couldn’t help but notice the corners of his eyes were slightly scrunched in a poorly hidden smile. I countered that with a full on grin and the only line that I could think of to say.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, I’ll bet you that signing this book together will turn into a new chapter of our life. We’ll end up “booked” for weeks!” There was a moment of silence. Then we both just burst out laughing. It wasn’t even that funny, but we ended up rolling on the floor in fits of giggles and our breathless laughter was easily heard over the rain that drenched the outside of the tent.</span>
</p>
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